


A is for Acceptance

by finprop



Series: ABCs of Samifer: AU Style [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Pre-College AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finprop/pseuds/finprop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is accepted into Stanford and Luce feels as if it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A is for Acceptance

Luce is happy for Sam, trust him, he is, but this is _Stanford_. Thousands of miles and the threat of losing contact is soon to span between them like a wide, gaping abyss that Luce doubts he’ll be able to stand. Luce aches for normality, for the blissful years he spent with eyes that only saw Sam in an aspect of friendship and not a burning desire for something more, something impossible. Luce remembers when want never strayed outside the boundaries of borrowing a toy, or maybe that new box of really nice markers Sam got for Christmas in the third grade, and the yearning to kiss Sam, or to hold Sam’s hand, or hell, to have _sex_ with Sam wasn’t ever a thought to cross Luce’s mind. Now, it clings to Luce like a phantom limb, this want, this naked, painful _need_ for Sam in every facet acquirable. Now, it’s two weeks, a week—today, presently, currently, _now_ god-fucking-dammit, one last godforsaken car ride away, and Sam is gone for good. This is goodbye, this is over. Luce had seventeen years to say something, to get it over with and deal with the rejection because he knows it’s impractical, and it’s gone with each mile driven under the worn tires of his shitty little Ford pickup. It’s done.

Luce remembers that ugly acceptance letter, Sam’s beautiful smile burning a hole into the back of his retinas every time he closes his eyes, how that one simple sentence solidifying Sam’s future in law obliterated Luce’s chance at absolution. Happiness quarrels with heartbreak, and Luce feels himself growing sicker and sicker as the airport inches closer. His knuckles blaze white around the steering wheel, and on any other occasion, Sam’s adorable babbling would bring Luce ease, but now it only sets him further off edge. Luce wants to puke.

Abruptly, the chatter stops. “Luce, hey, you okay man?” Sam asks. Luce is pointedly keeping his eyes on the road to prevent from looking at Sam, but he knows without glancing over that Sam is scowling. Luce swallows and plasters a smile on the face, risks a quick glimpse in order to settle Sam’s disquiet.

“Just a little anxious,” Luce admits, because he swore years back he’d never lie to Sam, and will stick true to that promise even if it hurts him to say it.

Sam grins, Luce can feel it even with his eyes trained on the road, and lapses back into his prattling. Luce relaxes mentally but physically remains stiff and focused. He can’t calm down; he’s trying to, forcing himself to let Sam’s voice ease the tension in his nerves and the knot in his stomach, though it’s futile. He really wants to throw up now.

And he does; he only has forty more miles but the anxiety is crippling. Sam’s at his side in an instant, rubbing his back as he retches over the side of the road, and Luce wants to cry. God, he wants to cry.

“Luce, I’m going to drive the rest of the way,” Sam murmurs, and Luce doesn’t argue.

The time diminishes even faster with Sam behind the wheel, and soon enough, they’re in front of the airport, Luce is helping Sam unload his things despite Sam’s request for Luce to sit down, he’s got this, but Luce has to move. He has to busy himself, can’t sit still because he’ll vomit again, and Sam is growing even more worried.

Now they’re in the check in line.

_I need to tell you something, Sam._

The security check, Sam’s duffle on the conveyer belt to be scanned.

_In the fifth grade, I fell for you when you gave me your ice cream because someone bumped into me and mine fell into the dirt. You said we’d always be friends, but I don’t want just that. I want more._

Starbucks, buying some coffee for the long plane ride to California—oh god, it’s almost time.

_I want **you** , Sam. Only you. It has to be you. You’re made for me. I’m made for you._

Sitting in front of the gate. The flight attendant announces that it’s time to board. 25B, Sam’s in the back of the plane because that’s all he can afford.

_I love you, Sam Winchester._

Sam’s on his feet, he’s waiting in line. It’s time.

_I love you._

“Well,” Sam stops, turning to Luce with a blinding, gorgeous smile, all dimples and white teeth. There are only a few more people in line to board. “I guess this is it,”

“Yeah,” Luce rasps, and tears sting his eyes. Sam hugs him, tell him to always call, and then he lets go. He’s next in line. He’s handing the woman his ticket. Luce stares at the ground. He can’t watch Sam leave. It’s over.

“I love you,”

Suddenly, there are strong hands on Luce’s collar, yanking him upwards and he’s met with a crushing kiss. No, this can’t be possible. Sam can’t be kissing him, can’t love him back, can’t—

Shut the fuck up, Luce tell himself, and he kisses back. He kisses as if he’s just seconds from dying, tears streaming down his face. His body is shaking as he wraps an arm around Sam’s neck and brings him closer, impossibly closer and god, he tastes better than Luce could ever imagine.

The kiss ends too quickly, way, way, _way_ too quickly and Luce chases after Sam’s lips, afraid he’ll never feel them again or worse, that he’s imagining it. This can’t be real.

But it is. He feels Sam smile against his mouth and those lips are pressing back once again, his hands are on his hips and he drags him closer. Luce cups Sam’s face, strokes his jaw and keeps his mouth molded oh so perfectly against his own. He doesn’t want this to end, ever.

“Sir,” her voice is reluctant, knowing of the credence that weighs heavily in the moment, but it reminds them that Sam has somewhere to be. Luce heart lurches as Sam pulls away an inch and he can’t hold back his whimper.

“Sam, don’t—” he starts, but Sam cuts him off with a curt kiss.

“I’m not. I’ve known you since we were three, Luce. Do you honestly think I’d let you go that easily?” Sam laughs and presses their foreheads together. He reaches up a hand and brushes Luce’s tears away with his thumb. “The answer is no, by the way,”

“I love you,” Luce says brokenly, and the dam shatters. The words flood, he can’t hold them back in. “I love you so much, Sam. I’ve always loved you, ever since the fifth grade, when—”

“I know,”

Luce stares at him. “Why—”

“I was waiting for you to make the first move. And you never did. So I did for you,” Sam explains, and Luce gives a strangled half laugh, half sob.

“God, you’re a dunce,” he gushes, grinning. He’s smiling so wide that his cheeks are starting to ache, and soon, Sam’s smiling too, and then they’re both laughing like idiots.

“ _Sir_ ,” the woman says, more urgently.

“Sorry, one second,” Sam apologizes before turning back to Luce. “I love you. Don’t forget that. I’m going to call you every day, okay? And each day, I’m going to tell you I love you. I’m going to do this for every week until I get a break, and then when I come back to see you, I’m taking you to the nicest restaurant I can, even if I can barely afford it. Just for you,”

“You’re perfect,” Luce chokes, fresh tears prickling his eyes.

“You’re even more,” Sam says, and he kisses him again.

They kiss for as long as they can before the flight attendant yells for Sam to come or they’re leaving, but it’s not their last. There isn’t any finality in Sam’s lips when he places one more short kiss into Luce’s mouth before pulling away and hurrying onto the plane. Instead, it tastes of eternity.

_I love you, Sam Winchester._


End file.
